I Don't Mind
by Nature's Girl
Summary: Oneshot.  Hermione and Severus, newly married and celebrating the end of the war, are met with tragedy when Severus is murdered.  Now Hermione must draw on the strength of her loved ones to pull through what seems to be a hopeless battle.  HGSS.  Pre DH.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter world or the ideas from the song "I Don't Mind," which inspired this fic.

**Summary:** Oneshot. Hermione and Severus, newly married and celebrating the end of the war, are met with tragedy when Severus is murdered. Now Hermione must draw on the strength of her loved ones to pull through what seems to be a hopeless battle. HGSS. Pre DH.

I was listening to the song "I Don't Mind" by Ty Tabor when I was inspired to write this oneshot. I used the lyrics to create the setting and mood, so it would be helpful to read the song before my story.

* * *

I Don't Mind 

_By Ty Tabor_

"Lost in a feeling / Lost in my mind / Lost among my friends and family / I'm hard to find / Stain covered ribbons / Thrown across the floor / And even though it seems like it's too much / I wait for more

So if it's you / You need some time / And if it's you / You need to find / I don't mind anymore / I don't mind / I never did / I don't mind at all

I took my ring off / Then I felt empty / And then I grasped for anything or anyone I could to set me free / I called the rain down on me / Lightning from the sky / Cause everywhere I look I see myself in other's eyes

So if it's you / You need some time / And if it's you / You need to find / I don't mind anymore / I don't mind / I never did / I don't mind at all

Another year is gone, and I'm at home / Another year is gone, and I'm at home / Another year is gone, and I'm at home / Another year is gone, is gone, is gone, is gone

An empty doorway / A single light / I said I'd hold on for both of us, and God knows I am trying / So if you've come to see me, don't look to deep in my eyes / I'm trying to make it easier, if I could just stop crying

So if it's you / You need some time / And if it's you / You need to find / I don't mind anymore / I don't mind / I never did / I don't mind at all

Another year is gone, and I'm at home… / Another year is gone, is gone, is gone, is gone…"

* * *

Though I have been staring at the same spot on the burgundy carpet for an hour now, I don't realize it. Lately, including now, I have lost myself in my thoughts, worries, and regrets. Ronald is sitting in a dark oak chair in the kitchen, and Harry is preparing food, something to sustain me, to quiet the growling of my deprived stomach. In the sitting room, my parents, gentle and kind folk, are wringing their hands in painful despair, with eyes swollen and red with their grief. Old professors lounge on my black couches, sipping tea nervously and stealing glances towards the dark hallway, knowing that I am in a room hidden in its black depths. A single candle rests on the vanity next to the bed, furnished with silken green sheets, where I am sitting on now. My feet dangle and touch the side of the bed, my toes gently scraping against the floor, rocking, then becoming quite still. For now, I am past tears. Having cried out all the moisture that was in my body, my eyes have become rather dry, and have begun to sting painfully. 

Rather suddenly, I hear voices in my home, alerting me to their purpose here. And naturally, my gaze is once again torn to the ribbons strewn across the carpet, covered in blood stains that had long since dried, yet still remaining fresh in my memory. They had once been white and clean, tying my bushy hair back. But his fingers, soaked in blood, had stroked through my hair and rested on my ribbons, as he spoke a final time. Two quiet voices, approaching from the end of the hall, brought my attention away once again, and I awaited their presence, wishing that I could just be left alone but accepting that I wouldn't be.

"Hermione," Harry whispered delicately, as an adult might speak to a frightened child, "your dinner is ready, if you feel up to eating it." Nodding silently, I allowed Harry and Ron to lift my arms and guide me softly through the doorway and into the bright living room, where so many friends and family awaited. Some eyes met mine, sorrowful and understanding, while others shied away, ashamed, not knowing how to comfort.

The hardness of the wooden chair met my back, and I mechanically raised the spoon to my mouth, tasting the rich onion soup yet not savoring it. To appease Harry, I took a bite of fresh bread, then dipped some more into the steaming soup. After eating my fill, and pushing the rest away, I soothed my burning throat with chilling pumpkin juice, a contrast that made me shiver slightly.

"Are you cold?" Ron asked, offering his cloak, which I politely refused. "I am fine," I whispered hoarsely, in a voice that I didn't recognize as my own. Excusing myself, I returned to my room and passed the strangled whispers and soft weeping of my friends. The candle had burned down more, the wax dripping down the sides slowly, the glow of the flame growing softer still. Harry and Ron didn't follow me, and allowed me the solitude I so greatly desired.

And so my gaze returned once more to the favored spot on the carpet, and to the bloody ribbons, until many hours later, late in the afternoon, Harry retrieved me again. Once again, I allowed myself to be directed through the sea of mourning people and led to a chair to sit. Whispers had vanished, and only sobs and extended silence remained. Stroking my shaking hands, my pale fingers touched the silver band, the ring that he had gently slid onto my anticipating finger. It was no longer required.

My body trembling, I slowly removed the sacred band and set it upon the table as Harry and Ron watched from their silence. And suddenly, I felt emptier than I had ever felt, and truly understood how great my loss was. My finger knew the absence of the cool metal, and recoiled as if in great pain. The waves of grief began to batter my heart as I succumbed to dry sobs, lacking tears that were all used up.

Rain began to pour from the churning sky, and they were the tears, the tears which I lacked. Standing from my seat, I raced outside, lifted my arms to the heavens, and the cold liquid poured onto my head and cooled my burning face and chest. Those inside watched in horror as I yelled to the heavens, cried for more rain, for lightning to arrive and to strike me down, so that I could be as cold and dead as he. Harry and Ron sprinted to my side quickly, urging me to return to the comforting indoors, and as I followed, I saw everyone's eyes on me, pitying and pained.

Weeks later, and then years later, found me sitting alone in my dark home, just as empty as ever. Three Christmases had passed, and still the festivities and warmth and joy had failed to melt my heart. Harry and Ron often invited me out of my tomb, but I refused more often then accepted, to their disappointment.

My naked finger never forgot the feel of the band, which I vowed to never put back on again, for that would have only been a lie, a denial of what I had lost. And through my grief and my pain, I vowed to never deny myself the truth.

And more than anything, I found myself staring at his pictures, at his things which still adorned my empty home, as if he were still there, as if I could turn the corner and see him sitting at the table, in the hard-backed chair, or waiting for me in our large bed, or lounging outside, observing the birds and the approaching bad weather.

In my dreams, I could always find myself remembering the last time we spoke. After the war, it was inevitable that some Death Eaters would escape and return to punish those who had betrayed and oppressed them. We had been taking a leisurely walk when we were attacked. Perhaps the years of peace and lack of worry had stilled his reflexes that were so stunningly great in his days as a spy. But no matter the reason, he had fallen, and I had engulfed the Death Eater in fatal green light.

He had gazed upon me with his fading black eyes, and the deep gashes, alive with dark magic, would not be closed, and the flow of blood would not be stopped. Shaking fingers, crimson with blood, had stroked my hair and my white ribbons as tears gathered in his eyes and spilled over, betraying the agony he felt as he lay dying in my arms. "Hermione," he had whispered through white lips, whiter than the palest skin, "Hermione." Perhaps I had envisioned our deaths to be accompanied by more eloquent words, but for the moment, I found myself speechless, and he continued his quiet murmuring of my name. And with his final breaths, my speech had finally returned to me, and I told him that I would try to hold on as best I could, and that I loved him. Smiling slightly, to mask the unbearable pain that wracked his body, his eyes never broke contact with mine. And when the life finally left him, his eyes remained open, but empty, so empty. And with all the power left in my shaking, disbelieving body, I had wept.

Now, staring into his eyes again, in my favorite photograph, which seemed so alive, I allowed myself a moment to pretend that he was still there. Returning his slight smile, I prepared for bed.

After pulling on my cotton pajamas, I crawled into bed, under the covers, and my gaze drifted to the picture on my bed stand, the one of him smiling with happiness glinting from his eyes. Even though it was years after, I felt the grief tug at my heart once again, and the pain was just as fresh, just as were the tears pouring from my blurry eyes. I allowed myself to weep again, my cries and moans silent to everyone in the world but myself and my lonely heart, ringing through my dark and empty home.

Again, I felt myself feel the despair I thought I had banished, and again, I questioned what was left for me here on this lonesome place, where my true love no longer lived. There was nothing. Only my friends, and my family, who could not quench my misery, could not reassure me that everything would be all right.

I had tried. I had tried to keep living happily, to let him go and then move on, but I had failed so miserably. Looking at the photograph and into his eyes, a fresh wave of tears battered me, and I pleaded for my pain to end, to finally leave me forever.

And then, my empty doorway loomed ahead, drawing my attention, and a candle, held by some unknown hand, appeared before me, lighting my room. Closing my eyes, I drifted into sleep, thinking of him, praying to see him again, as my breaths grew quieter and quieter until the darkness engulfed me and the light welcomed me home.

Harry and Ron, my parents, and my friends would find me, cold and asleep, and would mourn and cry and never forget me. They would drown in the ocean of despair as I had, but they would move on and remember my knowing smile, my know-it-all attitude, and my clear-headedness. They would call on memories of me for advice and remark, "That's what Hermione would say!"

But the journey was over for me, and though it had been long and painful and cold, I found the ending joyful. Severus, his face alight with a loving smile, extended a strong hand, which I took, and pulling me close, his whisper was content and true.

"Hermione."

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed my story. As an avid reader of HGSS fics, I'm surprised it's taken about 4 years to write my first one. But there it is. Hopefully I'll be inspired to write more in the future, especially since DH provided closure. 


End file.
